


Wait For It

by Incarnation_of_Satan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy Has PTSD, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Hints of Drarry, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incarnation_of_Satan/pseuds/Incarnation_of_Satan
Summary: An after the war fic with hints of Drarry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 25
Collections: Harry Potter, draco malfoy





	1. SNAKE!

Draco sat in the Slytherin common rooms, the turquoise light from the lake painting pictures on his pale skin, shifting like the portraits that lined the Hogwarts halls.

But while he was, as usual, staring morosely into the depths of the lake, half-hidden behind the emerald green curtains, he had added something to his spot. Pansy had recommended Draco try out the muggle inventions she loved- earphones or something, he thought, and so here he was sat, listening to some of her favourite music.

_Life doesn't discriminate_

_Between the sinners and the saints_

_It takes, and it takes, and it takes._

How true, Draco mused to himself. God, how pathetic had he become?

Thanking Potter after he spoke for him at his trial- and his mother's- although Draco already owed him a life debt; losing sleep over everyone who had died in the war, and feeling so terribly, terribly responsible; being unable to sit by the roaring fire and stare into its flames without being transported back to that traumatising event in the Room of Requirement; allowing himself to be pushed into an eighth year at Hogwarts just because he didn't know what else to do with himself- and now, relating to a song? And a _m_ _uggle_ song, no less. Merlin, Draco had fallen. It was true, though; life really didn't discriminate. It hadn't take pity on Draco when he'd been tormenting Potter for the fun of it, because he was supposed to; hadn't taken pity on him when he'd been under death threat from Voldemort himself to commit murder; hadn't pitied him when a giant bloody chicken had mauled his arm in year- oh, who _knew_ what year that was. It certainly didn't take pity on Draco now; not that Draco was trying to- to "reform" himself or anything ridiculous like that. He was used to the cruel treatment.

It had been going fine. As fine as could be expected in the circumstances, really- Draco was doing better in his classes than he'd expected, even with most of the newer teachers almost entirely against him; he suspected he might even be able to pass exams at the end of the year.

He was bored, yes- there wasn't really anyone to torment, and even if there had been, Draco still couldn't. If he put even one toe out of line, he'd be sent straight to Azkaban. And everyone knew this, too; he'd expected the bullying, the harassment- all of that. Didn't help when it actually started happening; so Pansy had given Draco the earphones to occupy himself and take his mind off of things for a while.

_My mother was a genius_

_My father commanded respect_

_When they died they left no instructions_

Now, Draco's parents weren't really dead; Lucius may as well have been, having been given a life sentence in Azkaban, bu Narcissa was only on house arrest for a year, and without magic for the same amount of time; but she'd been more closed off after the War. Draco was pretty much alone, in terms of family. Family by blood, at least. 

_Just_ _a_ _legacy_ _to_ _protect_.

Now, this, Draco could relate to so much it wasn't even really funny. He still had a legacy to protect, even as an ex-death eater, even as an outcast of society, he still had to protect his father's legacy as the sole heir of the Malfoy family- and probably the last, too, seeing the way his social standing was. And his sexuality- but that was for another time.

_And if there's a reason I'm still alive_

Draco wasn't- he didn't think that there was. How could there be, when his life had deteriorated into such a mess?

The call to go to bed sounded, and Draco stopped the music and headed to bed, the lyric still on his mind.

If there was a reason he was still alive- he was willing to wait for it.

It was with this mindset that he passed the next few days.

They were nearing the mark of it having been half a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the castle seemed to be preparing for what was sure to be a dismal day of remembrance. Draco could have scoffed at the idea. His father would have, too; he would have snickered and shot Draco a glance and muttered, "Sentiment is for pathetic weaklings," and Draco would have smirked and snickered and held his head high above the weeping masses of the dismal commoners, all sobbing over their fallen friends.

Draco would think, _This is why I don't have friends_ ; and he would continue on with his life, quite happily. Unfortunately, things never could go the way Draco planned.

The night before November 2nd, Vincent Crabbe haunted Draco's dreams.

The day of November 2nd was a walking nightmare. People were sobbing; classes cancelled.

Draco was miserable, having had nearly no sleep the previous night. Pansy and Blaise, thankfully, picked up on this, and were silent as the trio made their rounds of the grounds, letting Draco clear his mind as he wished. Then, the white noise of Hogwarts erupted in a cacophony of chaos, drawing the three's attention. "I bet you 10 galleons it's Potter," Draco said monotonically.

Pansy, never one to back down from a bet, smirked at him and replied, "You're on."

The three made their way back to Hogwarts at a leisurely pace; the noise wasn't dying down, and didn't seem like it would for a while.

When they arrived at the castle, they found a throbbing mass of people in the courtyard. They made their way around the edge of the throng and, eventually, up to the balconies, where they looked down upon the commotion.

Pansy slipped Draco ten galleons with a grumbled sound of indignation and something that sounded suspiciously like, _It's just because it's **Potter**. He **always** knows when it's Potter. Bloody **Potter** , for the past decade of my life-_, which then devolved into other vicious grumbles about Potter and Draco and some choice language. Draco simply smirked and looked down upon the gathering.

"Oh, Merlin," Blaise said from beside him. Draco inclined his head in his direction ever so slightly. "I- this is literally _just_ because Potter is here. There hasn't even been a fight- although," he adds with a sly look at Draco, "That might just be because you're not down there."

Draco huffed, acting wounded, and said, "Excuse me! Potter and I can absolutely have a decent conversation. Especially in public."

"Without _one_ fight?"

"Yes, Pansy. Not _one_ fight." Pansy turned to Blaise with a smirk. "Should I go 20 galleons, or 30?" She asked him.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly from Draco to Potter, and said, "50, at least."

Draco gave him a look of betrayal, and said, "Fine! You'll see." He made his way down to the courtyard, grumbling the whole way down about _ungrateful_ _friends_ and _50_ _bloody_ _galleons_ and _bloody_ _Potter_. He stepped out onto the courtyard and chaos erupted.

"You can't be here!" shouted a good ten people, while others shouted some form of agreeal or "Get away!" 

Draco's eyebrows slowly rose up his forehead in shock at how violently the public were reacting to his being in the same bloody _courtyard_ as their precious _saviour_.

He refused to look at Pansy and Blaise, although he could feel their triumphant gazes burning a hole in the side of his head. Nevertheless, he had a task to complete.

He rolled up his sleeves and started to walk forwards, preparing himself to have to push people to get to where Potter was still stood in the middle of the group, and was rather surprised when people leapt out of the way. He was about a third of the way to Potter when he noticed the way people would always look at his arms before moving; he was nearly at Potter when someone stood up to him.

"I- I-m not scared of you! You can't just go an- and show your- your mark off and expect people to just- just give you what you want! You won't hurt Harry Potter!" Draco half-recognised the small boy as Colin Creevey's little brother, was reminded of Dobby, and then was hit by what the boy said.

He frowned, and the realisation hits him all at once.

People weren't scared of _him_ \- they were scared of the Mark. He spotted movement to his left, and looked up to see Blaise and Pansy flailing their arms; when they locked eyes with him, they both start wildly gesturing at their forearms, and Draco nearly laughed. They looked absurd. Then he realised he'd surrounded himself in a group of Potter-worshippers, with his mark exposed, could see Potter staring at him, and realised that not only does he not know what to say to Potter, he also didn't know why he was doing this.

He'd always been a bit rebellious, and Potter always made him fly off the wall; but he was here now, and his pride wouldn't let him back down, so he marched forwards, around the mini-Creevey, and faces Potter, with his shoulders squared, and waited for his silver tongue to get to work. It didn't- it really didn't. It turned to lead, and then Draco was just stood there in front of Potter, wordless, looking like a right idiot in front of what must have be a good couple of hundred people.

"Malfoy," Potter said into the silence of the courtyard.

_Huh_ , Draco thought, _when_ _did_ _they_ _all_ _shut_ _up?_

"Potter," Draco said stiffly in return. God, it was awkward. Should he have brought something? A thank you present, maybe, as a gift for saving Draco from Azkaban- and _No_ , Draco thought at himself, _he_ _would_ _not_ _do_ _that_ _at_ _all_ , _because he was a dignified Malfoy and Malfoys don't apologise or- or give gifts, not at al- holy **Merlin** was that a **SNAKE**?!_

And suddenly Draco was panicking and _Oh_ , _God, it really **is** a snake _and _it's around Potter's **neck**_ and _is it going to **strangle** him?_ and _oh, Merlin, how is Potter so **calm**_? And Draco tried to ask him, but all that came out was a frightened little noise that seemed to confuse Potter because he always has been and always will be a thick-headed _idiot_ \- that would _never_ change, never, but surely even _Potter_ can realise when there is a snake _wrapped_ _around_ _his_ _neck_ -

Draco gestured at the snake, and Potter just. Stood there. And blinked.

"Potter," he managed to choke out, "Sweet _Merlin_ , there is a snake wrapped around your _neck_ , what in the name of _Salazar_ -"

"Oh," Potter said, "Malfoy, meet Lis. Lis, this is Malfoy." The snake hissed at Potter, seemed to actually glare at Draco, and then slides onto Potter's arm- which is held out towards Draco- and towards-- 

Draco stumbled back, thinking, _This is far too similar to Nagini, although Nagini must've been a hundred times bigger than this little- what even is it, a grass snake?- but, still, a snake,_ and it flickered its tongue at Draco, and Draco cried out and slipped and _oh_ , _Merlin_ , the snake was _on_ _him_ , and Draco blacked out.


	2. Snake?

When Draco awakens, he is in a room that is _far_ too bright, and _honestly_ , didn't Madame Pomfrey even _hear_ him tell her to paint the walls of the Hospital wing black for the next time he arrived? That much brightness is an assault on his eyes. Something slithers across his arm. Draco screams.

Potter, who had previously been resting on the side of the bed, apparently asleep and with his face tucked away under his arms- what had _he_ been doing _here_?- bolted upright, already reaching for his wand, while the snake recoiled, backing into Potter's nest of hair. Had he even tried to brush his hair _once_? Even a small attempt? Draco imagined any comb too flimsy would just break if Potter even attempted to tame that wild nest now.

But in any case.

Potter bolted upright, and drew his wand, before he registered that Draco had screamed at the snake. "Bit ironic, Malfoy, that _you're_ screaming at a _snake_ ," he says in a drawl that should've been Draco's chance to put in a witty comment. He resorts to simply having a witty retort.

"Well, _Potter_ , bit ironic you should have a snake at _all_. And, for _your_ information-" and Draco doesn't really know why he's telling this to _Potter_ , of all people- "I _lived_ with a snake for over a year- _Voldemort's_ snake, I'll have you know. In my _house_. Big, scaly thing- I believe that would-be coward Longbottom-" Draco let a sneer take over his face as Potter made a satisfying noise of protest- "killed it. Y'know the one- _Nagini_? Ring any bells?"

Potter screws up his face, and looks like he's about to burst out with insults when Pansy- Oh, dear, sweet Pansy, Draco thinks- chimes in; "I told you neither of them would even notice us, Blaise, darling. You've known them for the larger part of a decade, and you tried to go against me in this? Pay up, pay up." She rounds the edge of the hospital bed Draco is occupying, shooting Draco a sugar-sweet smile. "And, my darling Draco, you owe me-" she glances at Blaise- "What was it? 40 galleons?"

Blaise, who was previously scowling at her, but is now smirking at Draco, says, "50." Draco corrects himself. He hates Pansy, and Blaise, both of them are _treacherous_ _leeches_ and he is going to _burn them off and leave them to die-_

"Oh, Draco, darling, don't look at me like that. You know you couldn't get rid of me at this point if you tried. By the way, Potter, please stop looking so gobsmacked. Yeah, I'm sorry I volunteered you to old Voldy, but then you went of your own free will, so you must've agreed with me a bit- don't look like that, you know it's true- and Blaise hasn't really done much, and I doubt Draco's going to apologise first-" she puts her hand by her mouth to "hide" a smirk and shoots Draco a sly look- "What am I saying, of course you know; you two have been alternatively stalking and being stalked by each other these past 7 years-" she blatantly ignores both Draco and Potter's noise of protest, and Blaise has entirely withdrawn from the conversation to have a laughing fit in the corner- "So now we've done all that, and Blaise and I are here- Draco, what _happened_? You just fainted. I know you like playing the role of damsel in distress-"

"I do not!"

"Third year, Malfoy- Buckbeak the hippogriff." Draco glares at Potter. Now he's siding with Draco's own friends- _ex_ -friends- against him? How _dare_ he.

Pansy smirks and gives Potter an appraising look before continuing; "So, yes, you like playing the damsel in distress- where was I going with this? Oh, yeah- but did you really have to _faint_ in front of two or three _hundred_ people? Honestly. What did it?"

And Draco remembers that the- the thing that caused his little "fainting episode", remembers that it is tucked somewhere in that mess of Potter's hair, and scrambles across the bed away from him as Blaise laughs even harder. He manages to choke out, "You fainted because of _Potter_?" And Draco barely has the self-restraint not to hex him right here, right now.

Instead, he turns to Pansy, who will no doubt be slightly more sympathetic, and says, "He has a snake." Pansy raises an eyebrow. "And? So does the zoo down the road. So do about a third of the Slytherins. So did-" and then she freezes, and Draco watches realisation sweep across her face.

_So_ _did_ _Voldemort_ , she was going to say. She knows about how Draco had to live with the madman for so long- knows the torment, the punishment he had to endure during that time. She turns to Potter. "You didn't- Potter, do you have the snake on you? Right now?" Potter nods his affirmation, makes some weird motion with his mouth, too quiet for Draco to hear, and the snake crawls out of his hair and onto the bed. It's tongue flickers out of its mouth, its eyes blinking in the light. From behind Pansy, Draco observes it more calmly.

It- it is a _little_ shameful that he fainted at that tiny, pathetic-looking thing; but its face as the same sharp quality of Nagini's, and its eyes hold the same bright intelligence. He shudders. "Draco, darling," Pansy begins, and _Oh_ , _no_ , Draco knows where this is going, she has used that tone of voice on him only twice before- once when she tried to get him to reconcile with that species of big, ugly chickens- Hippogriffs- and again when she tried to get him to face his boggart. Draco refused adamantly, and it had led to two of their biggest fights ever.

It's the voice she uses when she's trying to get him to face his fears. His response comes before she's even finished her sentence. "No." Firm, deliberate- his voice doesn't even waver. Draco takes a moment of pride in himself.

"It could be good for you-"

"No."

"I know about the dreams, you still sleep talk, Blaise says-"

Draco shoots Blaise a glare as he says, once more, "No."

"Draco, you can't just- I don't know, avoid snakes forever! Look at it. It's so small- and it belongs to Potter. Who saved your life. And kept you out of Azkaban." And nearly killed me, Draco adds silently, but Pansy always could read him like an open book, because she adds, "It won't hurt you."

And then Potter- dense, dense Potter- seems to finally realise what this conversation is about, even if he doesn't fully comprehend how much this is frightening Draco, or why, but enough to say, "C'mon, Malfoy. She's just a grass snake. Barely the length of my forearm. She doesn't bite, promise- d'you- I could hold her while you stroked her, if you want, she wouldn't move a muscle if I told her not to-" And he looks so earnest, and that's not what Potter is to Malfoy, he doesn't look so- so _passionate_ , unless it passionate _rage_ , or some other negative emotion- but this is- this is _encouragement_ , for Draco, and it's just not Potter. And Potter, who is currently choosing the worst moments to be deceptive and observant, lets a cool mask slide onto his face- when did he learn to do that?- and says, " _Scared_ , Malfoy?"

And it's so similar to a time, way back in second year, when the two were facing off in a duel, and Draco can't help but raise his chin a bit, step forward haughtily, and say, "You _wish_ , Potter."

And the snake- still unrestrained, still free- slithers towards Draco slowly; he bends down, lets the barest tips of his fingers brush across its body. It rises, head arching up to meet Draco's arm, and Draco freezes. The snake doesn't stop, though- it keeps going until it is entirely wrapped around Draco's forearm- Potter was right, it really couldn't be longer than his forearm- and Draco is shaking and tense and _so_ , _so_ , still, holding his breath, and sees out of the corner of his eye, Potter giving him the most obvious look of _Is_ _that_ _the_ _Best_ _you_ _can_ _Do_? And Draco will _not_ stand for that, so he raises his head a little more, meets Potter's gaze with a glare, and runs his hand down the length of the snake's spine, forcing his muscles to relax and his lungs to start working. And his breaths aren't even, and his spine is too straight to be relaxed, but he is holding- _stroking_ \- a snake, not even looking at it- and it's all because of Potter.

_Isn't_ _everything_? A little voice in his mind asks, but Draco pushes that aside and says, "That was rather Slytherin of you, Potter."

And he hates how quiet, subdued his voice is, but Potter is smirking and saying, "I knew it'd get you to do it- and it worked, didn't it?"

"Still," Pansy adds appraisingly, "Very cunning- very, very cunning. You analysed Draco's reaction, predicted his answers, and entirely changed your approach to antagonise him into doing what you wanted." She pauses, as if really realising how that is a _very_ Slytherin thing to do, and asks, "Are you _sure_ you're not a Slytherin?"

And Potter has the nerve to smirk and say, "I nearly was, you know; if Malfoy hadn't been such a prick- no, wait, not even. If I'd even properly met Malfoy before I met Ron, I'd probably be a Slytherin right now." And Draco wants to cry at the unfairness of it all- if only his younger self had been a bit smarter, a bit quicker, _he_ could be the Golden Boy's best friend. God, life just wasn't _fair_.

What Draco does, however, is raise an eyebrow, smirk, and say, "Like you have the guts to survive in Slytherin."

And so Potter, being the contradictory little Gryffindor that he is, looks Draco dead in the eye, and says, in the most deadpan voice, "I _died_ , Malfoy. The night of the Battle of Hogwarts, I died. You can ask your own mother- she's the one who told that to Voldemort himself."


	3. Snakes, the Lot of Them

Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear.

As soon as the word "mother" left Potter's mouth, Narcissa strolled in through the doors, looking for all the world like the regal lady of the Malfoy family- but Draco (having grown up with her) saw how her pace was slightly accelerated, and how her lips were pursed, and her brow furrowed, rather than her face being the usual smooth mask the Malfoys had learned and cultivated. There was even a crease in her dress. When she saw that Draco was alright- and that he had visitors- she paused for only a moment (in relief) before continuing towards them in her usual manner, the way she presented herself to the public.

She gave Pansy, Blaise and Potter stiff nods and formal greetings before turning to Draco. "What happened?" is the first thing she asks him, and Draco is suddenly so, _so_ glad that she is here and not his father; because with everything going on (waking up to have Potter at his side, said Potter siding with his friends against him- and all after Draco had already fainted) Draco really needed some parental love, and if his father had been here, his first question to Draco would've been something along the lines of _How dare you faint in public,_ and, _do you **want** the Malfoy name to be associated with faint-hearted damsels in distress and other weak creatures?_ So, yes, it was a good thing Narcissa was here, Draco contemplated as he re-told his story for her.

As he spoke, he watched as her eyes became slowly more and more fixated on his hair; when he finished, she let her eyes flicker back down to his face before moving back- almost imperceptibly- and asking Potter, "Is that _your_ snake on his head?" Once again, Draco froze up.

As he'd been retelling his story, he's entirely forgotten about the snake he'd been holding- now, it appeared, it had slithered its way up his back, his neck, and had taken shelter upon his head. Indeed, his head felt heavier than it had before. As he felt the internal panic rising, Blaise (the holy, god-sent angel from heaven that he was) asked Potter if he could hold the snake- Lizzy? Lisbeth? He'd just call it Lis. As the snake was handed over, Draco let out a barely-audible sigh of relief, and was met with 4 twin stares of humour. How- what? Then he realised. These were all people who had been studying him- specifically _him_ \- for at least a year, to see how he was; his mother, in concern, Blaise and Pansy, too; Potter, because he thought Draco was up to something. (And, okay, maybe he _had_ been- but c'mon, This was two _years_ ago; the war was over. A fact not many people seemed able to accept.)

Blaise (and, by extension, Pansy) continued to play and fuss over the little serpent, who quite seemed to be enjoying the attention. And while Potter had laughed a bit over Draco's palpable relief of having the snake away from him, he was now watching the group with wide interested eyes. Eventually, (and somewhat reluctantly, after years of experience), Draco turned to Narcissa, who was watching him steadily. Once she had his attention, she cleared her throat to say, "I must say, Draco, you haven't been quite this dramatic about Mr. Potter since- oh, maybe fourth year?" Draco got as close to glaring at his mother as ever he had done, while Blaise and Pansy- treacherous demons born of the deepest, worst places in Hell- simply looked on and snickered- "You climbed a tree to simply throw an insult at him and eat an apple. You got turned into- what was it, a ferret?- afterwards by that false Mad-eye Moody. You wouldn't stop complaining for weeks- as a matter of fact, I'm rather surprised you haven't said anything about Mr. Potter as of yet in my visit. I was unaware you refrained from complaining about these things; Merlin knows you complain enough in front of the rest of us- whilst in his presence- but," she said, glancing at Potter to scrutinise him for a few moments, "Oh, would you look at that. I think you're right. His eyes really are very pretty- you never could do them justice verbally, even with your eloquent language and style of speech. Although I did get rather a good idea from all the green eyes you doodled in your spare time-" Potter was staring at Draco, who had flushed a terribly uncomplimentary shade of fuschia during the short retelling of his childhood anecdotes- as Pansy and Blaise's barely-controlled giggling turned into a full-on laughing fit.

"Mother! What's the time? Don't you need to get back to the Manor? By the way, how were you even let out? I only fainted, it's nothing too serious."

This seemed to sidetrack her. "Well- um-"

She shot a glance at Potter, who seemed to understand that something _not-quite-legal but technically-not-illegal had happened,_ and said, "Don't worry about me. I couldn't even begin to tell you half the rules I've broken for people I love; and if I still had a mother when I was in Hogwarts," he adds a little more quietly, "I'd want her to do anything she could to see me after i was injured. Even if that meant breaking the law."

Narcissa, somehow unphased by this pity-me-please story, nodded at Potter before turning back to Draco and continuing, "So, as you already know, the house elves' magic doesn't really count as magic, so they are still able to perform their previous tasks for us at the Manor. Well- so- house elves are able to disapparate, and a few of them work down in the kitchens, and so- so I came on a little- ah- supervisory visit to see how they're all doing down in the kitchens. Entirely legal," she adds, before pausing slightly to say, "technically. But your Headmistress allowed it, so I think I'm fine. I do probably have to leave soon, however; I cannot stay too long. You _are_ alright, Draco?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Alright, I'll be going then. Oh, and Mr. Potter?" Potter glanced up from where Pansy and Blaise were still playing with the snake. "Thank you."

Then, without waiting for a response, she turned and left, her heels click-clacking on the floor of the hospital wing.


End file.
